Harm and Foul
by Tales To Tell
Summary: Sometime after Culverton, Sherlock's reaction to John's proximity reveals wounds left unhealed.


**Harm and Foul**

221B. Living room.

Rosie, standing in her cot while holding the rails, throws a toy on the floor. John and Sherlock both bend down to pick it up. Sherlock gets to it first, and as he's straightening up to give it back to her, he sees John's outstretched hand by his face and jerks backward.

John freezes with his hand midair, slack-jawed. "Oh…my god."

Sherlock holds the toy out, but John doesn't take it. After a second, he moves past John and gives the toy to Rosie.

John turns around still gaping at him. "Sherlock, did you just…?"

"Just forget it, John."

"I'm not gonna bloody forget it."

Rosie tosses the toy again and Sherlock catches it. He wiggles it at her and starts making funny faces.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock keeps playing with Rosie and adds goofy noises to the game.

"Sherlock, would you turn around please?"

John reaches for Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock sees the hand moving toward him, and jerks away before he can control the impulse.

John's face falls. "Shit."

Sherlock turns back to the giggling infant and tickles her belly with his fingers.

"Bloody hell. Sherlock, I'm so sorry," says John.

"For what?" says Sherlock. The baby giggles increase in volume and adorableness.

"I completely moved on without considering—"

"Nothing to consider."

"You're afraid of me."

Sherlock scoffs. "Ridiculous."

"You flinched."

"So what? I flinched. It's a natural response to someone flinging a hand in your face. Should I try it on you and see if you hold still?"

Sherlock turns around and jabs at John's face. John throws a hand up to block and Sherlock flinches again.

"Jesus." John retracts his hand and rubs his face. "You're afraid. You're actually scared of me."

Sherlock sneers. "I'm _not_."

"Well, you certainly move like you are."

"I'm not afraid. I've no reason to be afraid."

John steps toward him.

Sherlock moves back till he's trapped by the cot. "I just need more personal space."

John squints at him. "Since when?"

"Since always, John. You're just so clingy. I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

"Right."

"Look, I'm not doing it on purpose. I know you won't…you'd never…" He looks at the floor. "Could you move back please, John."

John curses like a sailor and puts an arm's length between them. "I'm an idiot. I'm sorry, Sherlock. I can't believe I just… I never even apologized."

Sherlock waves him off. "No need for apologies."

"Of course there is. I beat you."

"Exaggerating."

"I kicked you."

Sherlock sucks in a breath and brushes past him.

"And now you're bloody traumatized."

Sherlock picks up his violin and starts playing loudly and obnoxiously, scratching out a cacophony fit to make ears bleed.

John picks up Rosie, who is somehow unperturbed, and grits his teeth against the aural assault. His eyes lock onto Sherlock's throughout his frenzied play, and as the bow scrapes out a chaotic melody, he comes to understand how deeply he's hurt his friend.

The piece concludes.

Sherlock stares coolly at John. "See, John. I'm not afraid of you, or else, I'd never risk upsetting you like that."

John adopts a sympathetic tone. "We have to talk about this Sherlock."

Sherlock puts the violin back to his chin.

John's hand flies up in protest. "Please don't start that again."

"Or what, another pummeling?"

"You _are_ upset."

"I'm kidding."

"No, you're not."

The bow touches the strings.

"Alright, let's not argue," says John. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, for what I did. I wish I could take it back. I promise, I'll never do anything like that again."

Sherlock plucks a few strings on the violin. "Don't promise that. I might need you to for a case."

"Then not maliciously."

Sherlock frowns at the ceiling. "I might need to piss you off."

John rolls his eyes. "Alright, then I promise to apologize sooner next time, if there is one, and I'll make it up to you."

Rosie makes grabby hands at Sherlock. He puts bow to string and plays the theme song of her favorite cartoon. "How?"

John wonders how as well. He puts Rosie back in her cot with a kiss on her head, then steps toward Sherlock. "Hit me."

"What?"

"Yeah, hit me. You'll feel better."

"I'm not going to hit you."

John smirks. "Well, this sounds familiar. Come on, just a jab on the chin. Or anywhere's fine. God knows I did a lot worse to you."

Sherlock shakes his head and puts down his violin. "I won't hit you, John."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to hurt you. I've done enough of that."

"Sherlock."

"I should be the one apologizing," says Sherlock. "After everything I've done, you still care for me. Still call me a friend. I've lied. Manipulated you. I killed your wife."

" _No_."

"I'm grateful all you did was kick the shit out of me."

"Sherlock, you did not kill her. I thought we'd settled this."

"Every time I look at her…" Sherlock's gaze shifts from John to the crib behind him.

John sees tears in the eyes fixed on his daughter and his own eyes well up too. "Oh, geez."

"She should be here, John," says Sherlock. "She should be here watching her daughter grow up. Not me. I should be—"

John has two chunks of collar in his fists before he knows it. "Don't you dare say you should be dead. Don't you even _think_ it." He gives Sherlock a shake then lets him go.

Sherlock bites his lower lip.

John takes a calming breath. "You must be the biggest idiot in the world if you can't figure out how much you mean to me. That's why everything you do affects me so much. That's why you can piss me off worse than anyone else. Because you make me _feel_ more than anyone else. And if you repeat a word of what I just said to anyone, I swear to god…"

Sherlock chuckles through his tears.

John touches his arm. "You get under my skin, _because_ I care about you. I hated what I did to you. That was…" He trails off at a loss for words.

"Not good?" offers Sherlock.

" _Beyond_ not good," says John. "You were already sick, and I could've killed you. That's partly why I left. Because I was still angry, and I was still gonna be angry, and I didn't want to hurt you again. I never said anything about it after, because I assumed you'd planned it. I take it you didn't."

Sherlock shakes his head. "I have to admit, it wasn't in my calculations." He laughs awkwardly and a tear slips down his cheek.

John runs a hand through his hair. "I disappointed you."

"No." Sherlock says it like it's an impossibility. "I disappointed me. When you…um…" He makes a vague gesture and clears his throat. "I was scared to death."

John's face twists in remorse.

"Not of you. Just… When I saw your face, I realized…how big a mess I'd made and that I might not be able to fix it. I'd finally made you hate me."

"I've hated you loads of times."

"Not like that," says Sherlock.

John opens his mouth to rebut, but can't find the right words. He can't even say never again, because there's bound to be some time in the future that Sherlock will piss him off beyond rationality and he'll bloody his fist on his face again. But something greater than that is also true and will remain so. He squeezes Sherlock's shoulder.

"No matter what, Sherlock, I couldn't possibly ever hate you more than I…"

He trails off with a huff, then scowls and grits his teeth and shakes his head. With an exasperated sigh, he raises his hand to the tear-slick cheek, and fixes Sherlock with a death glare. "You'd better understand, because I'm not gonna say it."

Sherlock covers the hand with his own and nods. "I understand, John."

"And?"

"It's mutual of course," says Sherlock.

"Good."

The tension eases and they pull away, chuckling.

Rosie starts to fuss and they both lean over her cot to soothe her.

John picks her up again and Sherlock plants a kiss on her head, right where John had put his. "And you too, my dear Watson."


End file.
